Missing Pieces: Peeta's POV
by RubyArrows
Summary: Peeta's POV of some of the important moments in the Hunger Games series, starting with the moment Katniss learns he wants to train alone for the games. We learn that Haymitch may actually care about these Tributes, and that he plans to save them. Disclaimer: I don't own any of these characters and no copyright is implied or intended, these are all Suzanne's Collins' property.
1. Haymitch's Plans

**I forgot to add this when I first uploaded: for this first scene, I think it's important to know that my theory is that Haymitch is much more calculating and intelligent than Katniss realizes, and since the books are all from her perspective, we miss a lot of what is really going on. Haymitch might even know from the beginning that the Gamemakers won't pass up a romantic plot and can be manipulated into allowing two victors. He can read Peeta like a book, and uses this to keep both of them alive. Peeta's POV throughout, since he is perceptive.**

* * *

_"Well, there's been a change of plans. About our current approach," says Haymitch._

_"What's that?" I ask. I'm not sure what our current approach is. Trying to appear mediocre in front of the other tributes is the last bit of strategy I remember._

_Haymitch shrugs. "Peeta has asked to be coached separately."_

* * *

I look out at the city below me, the Capitol lit up and alive with excitement over the impending Games. How different a place this is from District 12, where we may only have a few hours of electricity each day. My father's ovens can be powered with a variety of fuels for this reason. The thought of my father, of my family, is too much at this moment, so I think about what happened today instead.

The day's events have been overwhelming, too; the growing anxiety as we get closer to our time in the arena, our displays of skill, the Gamemakers giving us our scores. My respectable 8... Katniss's 11. I think of myself as a Gamemaker momentarily, what it would have been like to be indifferent to her, almost feel disdain for her, 'The Girl on Fire,' an idea completely designed and orchestrated by her stylists, and then be surprised into paying attention to her skill with the bow and arrows. I imagine I would be the man falling into a bowl of punch, completely shocked and feeling embarrassed. I decide almost immediately that I need to talk to Haymitch.

I open the door to my room as quietly as possible, walk past Katniss's closed door, and back into the living room of our impressive apartment. I find Haymitch still sitting in a chair in the living room, many half-empty bottles on the table in front of him, a full glass in his hand. His eyes are closed, and since I don't want to set him off, I sit down and wait a few moments to see if he opens them on his own. I'm about to nudge him when his eyes pop open, a look of fear on his face before his eyes focus on me.

"Hey, kid, can't sleep?" he says.

"Not really," I admit. "There's something I need to talk to you about, Haymitch." He nods and gestures with his free hand to urge me along.

"For the interviews, and the rest of the time before we enter the arena," I take a deep breath and say it quickly. "I want to be coached alone." Haymitch doesn't react, but studies the brown liquid in his sparkling glass. I notice it has designs cut into the glass, a pattern that looks like snowflakes.

"Okay," he agrees. "That's probably a good strategy at this point. Any particular reason?"

I take another deep breath, but it gets stuck in my throat and all I can get out is a strangled whisper, "It's her."

Haymitch nods slowly, and for a moment I think he may fall asleep, but instead, he says, "I think I understand. She may be a smart hunter, but she can be pretty blind to-" he takes a sip of his drink "-other things."

"Yeah," I agree. I'm not quite sure if I know what he's talking about, but I decide that Haymitch may be more intelligent than I first gave him credit for. He may be drunk most of the time, but what if that's merely to dull his sharp thinking? He must have difficult memories of his time in the arena, and losing all of his Tributes the past 23 years of coaching. What if he actually does know what he's doing when he's coaching, and Katniss and I are the first pair of Tributes that he cares about and he genuinely thinks one of us can win? I think of him saying earlier, "In public, I want you by each other's side every minute. Every minute! It's not open for discussion! You agreed to do as I said! You will be together, you will appear amiable to each other."

Now, he interrupts my thoughts with a question. "How long?" he asks. I shake my head, pulling myself away from pondering Haymitch's experience, not sure what he's asking me.

"How long since what?" I ask.

"You aren't as good at hiding your thoughts as you might think, Peeta," Haymitch says. He leans forward in his chair and moves the glass around in his hand, letting the liquid roll around, catching the remaining light in the room, which is all artificial but seems warm and cozy, the opposite of the feelings this place gives me.

"Oh," I say, realizing that he's probably right. I'm usually quiet and don't think anybody notices me, but Haymitch is smart and has clearly been watching my every action, my every mood, since I stepped onto the stage in District 12. "My father first pointed her out to me on the first day of school. He was in love with her mother," I say. This is the first time I've said this aloud. I force myself to go on and all the words tumble out, "I had never heard him mention this before, so I paid attention. My father said that she'd left him for a coal miner, who had a singing voice the birds would stop to listen to. I watched the girl with two braids down her back, wearing a red dress. My father told me her name, Katniss Everdeen. I knew I'd never forget her name. In music assembly that day, the teacher asked who knew the valley song, and Katniss volunteered right away, and when she sang, I just knew." I stop, realizing I've never told anyone else about this. "I watched her go home from school every day, tried to think of ways to talk to her, but never could bring myself to actually say anything-"

"Who else knows?" Haymitch asks abruptly.

"Nobody!" I say, but then stop, realizing that might not be true. "Well, I haven't said anything specifically, but my father might have an idea. He always points out when she and Prim stop to admire my cakes in the window of the bakery, and I'm sure he notices that I make excuses to go out front and watch them through the window, and he mentions when he's traded for squirrels with her. But he'd never say anything, he's a private man."

"That's good, that nobody else knows. We can use this," Haymitch says.

No, I think, no, this is one thing the Gamemakers can't have, one thing that is just mine. But I think of Haymitch's experience with all of this, and nod. "How?" I ask, now curious about Haymitch's plans.

"You're sure she doesn't know?" he asks, sitting back in his chair and propping his feet on the table in front of him.

"I'm sure," I say. Suddenly, I'm brought back to the day I saw her out in the rain, rummaging through our trash, obviously the thinnest she'd ever been. My heart broke for her, I wanted to run out in the rain and hug her, pull her inside and dry her off, sit her near the ovens and warm her, give her as much food as I could, to take home to her mother and Prim. But my mother was in a particularly bad mood that day, having argued with my father that morning. I had to think quickly, and knew that we could never sell loaves that were slightly burnt, but someone very hungry would appreciate them. The hearty raisin and nut loaves in the oven were nearly done. My mother was busy up front with a customer, trying to bargain, and I knew it would be a few moments before she would return. I left the loaves in the oven just a moment too long, the ends nearest the flames turning dark brown. I pulled them out just seconds before they turned black, and my mother returned at that moment, screaming at me about how stupid I was, how nobody will buy these loaves, how I should throw them to the pigs. I didn't say anything, and this angered her even more, and she hit me. I didn't care, just turned and brought the bread out into the rain. I avoided looking at Katniss, pulling off some of the darkened pieces and tossing them to the pigs. When I knew my mother had gone back up front and Katniss was watching me, I threw the bread in her direction, quickly going back into the bakery and watching through the rain-splattered window as she gathered the loaves, tucking them into her jacket, and ran off. I think of the next day, seeing her in the school yard, the first time I think she ever looked at me, ever noticed me, too. She can't possibly know how I feel.

"Then you have to tell her," Haymitch says, bringing me back to the present. My chest tightens and I feel panic rising from stomach to my chest, gripping me with a fear I haven't ever felt, even when my name was called in the reaping. I have never allowed myself to hope-no, even to imagine-what telling her would be like. I get a picture in my head of sitting with her in this apartment, telling her how I care about her, how I've felt for as long as I can remember, and it feels all wrong. What could her reaction possibly be? I know she is friends with Gale Hawthorne, and I imagine their time in the woods isn't spent merely hunting. Instead of jealousy, all I feel is resigned.

"I can't," I choke out. "She wouldn't like it." I clarify, "I don't think she'd like knowing how much I care about her, knowing she'd have to kill me to get back to her loved ones." I specifically don't say 'to get back to her family,' thinking of Gale, tall and handsome, most of the girls giggling when they see him in town.

"So you don't tell her directly," Haymitch says.

"Then how-" I stop. "The interview." The short interview which is required viewing for all of the Districts, to get to know the Tributes, to begin to care about them and to get personal information about them in order to place bets. Caesar Flickerman in his glossy bright suits, year after year, taking kids into his confidence in front of all of Panem.

"Yes, Caeser usually teases the Tributes about there being someone 'back home' that they are fighting to get back to," Haymitch pulls his feet off the table with some effort, obviously more drunk than when I first sat down with him, and fills his empty glass with more liquid, this time from a different bottle, the contents a blue color.

"And if he doesn't?" I ask.

"You figure out a way to bring it up. Surely he'll ask your thoughts on the other Tributes, or what you think of your odds, or something," he waves his free hand in a loose gesture. "You're smart, you're charming, you'll think of a way."

I sit silently for a few moments, mulling this over. "And what kind of strategy is this?" I ask.

"You can protect her," he says. How does he know that this is my intention? Haymitch was probably a child genius, ruined by the Games, I realize. "You know her, how harsh she can seem!" Haymitch nearly shouts. He stops and closes his eyes, saying, "The Gamemakers want a show, that's all this is to them. This isn't about remembering our past and all of that nonsense, this is television." He sighs heavily. "You love this girl, and you want to protect her, right?"

Love. Do I love Katniss? I think about how I felt as a child, seeing her in school and being happy but nervous around her. And I think of how I felt, hearing Prim's name called, knowing Katniss would volunteer, knowing her bravery and her fierce devotion to those she loves. _"She has no idea. The effect she can have."_ I couldn't look at her after I said that. I know my feelings for her are deeper now, but does it matter how I really feel? I have no chance of winning the Games, but I know Katniss does. I want to help her, protect her.

"Yes," I agree with Haymitch.

"The Capitol will lap it up, your love for Katniss, and maybe they will love her, too. This could get you sponsors," he says. Sponsors can mean the difference between life and death in the arena, and I know Haymitch is right. My desire to help Katniss may inspire others to want to help her, too.

"And if you position yourself correctly, you can make allies out of the Careers," he says.

"How will that help?" I ask, feeling instantly stupid and like I've missed something, some crucial step in Haymitch's idea.

Haymitch sighs and starts, "You admit to everyone that you love her. People will feel sorry for you, for the odds are definitely not in your favor." He smirks, and I momentarily hate him. He continues, "With her 11, the Careers are going to target her. She's quick and smart, and will be able to hide for a while. You can make an alliance with them by making them believe you know her strategy. And you do. You help them track her, but keep them off the exact trail. They'll believe you, based on your admission, they'll know that you've watched her and seen her train. But you can keep her safe, at least until the end." He takes a big gulp of the last of the blue substance, and sets down the glass on the table. He leans back again and says, "You appear to sacrifice yourself for her, and who knows what might happen?"

I think about this. Admit my feelings. Make allies. Get sponsors. Protect her. Get her to the end of the Games, with only a few Tributes left to kill. Get her back to District 12, safe and able to live her life freely. Haymitch's plan seems simple, now that I put it together. The hardest part won't be getting into the arena, it will be playing like we are on the same team and keeping her safe, knowing when she can take out the remaining Tributes, knowing when to sacrifice myself.


	2. Allies

**Sorry it's taken me so long to update, went on vacation and when I got back, was really busy getting caught up at work. A reader requested a few scenes to explain how Peeta becomes allied with the Careers, and the death of the girl from District 8. I'm also adding in when Peeta saves Katniss but gets his leg injury, which is toward the end but not complete yet. Follow for updates. This is rough, so if you review it, I can tweak it to make it better. :) **

* * *

After searching through the woods for most of the day for the other Tributes, the Careers seem barely winded. I, on the other hand, am nearly shattered, and it's only been a day. In allying myself with the Careers, I probably appear to the audience watching from their home Districts as heartless. But when Cato found me in the woods, resting briefly in what I now realize was a terrible hiding place in some bushes with thorns, him wielding a sword, I nearly forgot everything Haymitch told me and had to think fast...

"Stop!" I yelled before he could strike. "I can help you!"

Lowering the sword slightly, Cato looked skeptical. "Help me? I've been practicing for this my whole life. How can you possibly help me?" he queried.

"You know I have no chance of winning," I said, trying to be logical and appeal to Cato's intelligence in the art of battle. He cocks his head and doesn't disagree with me. "My eight compared to your ten, I'm no threat to you," I went on. "But I know who is." I paused, and he took the bait.

"You mean your girlfriend?" he sneered, and I shook my head.

"She's not my girlfriend!" I said angrily. "After my interview, she attacked me, knocked me down and gave me these," I held out my hands for Cato to see the cuts that are still healing. "She barely acknowledges my existence... it's humiliating! Do you have any idea how angry that makes me?"

Cato nodded once in assent. "I guess I can imagine," he said. "Not that any girl has ever said no to me," he added for good measure.

"I can help you track her," I told him. "And you can promise to make her death as quick and painless as possible once we find her."

He nodded and reached out a hand to me to help pull me out of the bushes. I almost couldn't believe that he'd agreed so quickly, but he's probably planning to kill me as soon as he's found and killed Katniss. He might as well use me as a pawn in his game. I grabbed hold of his arm and he pulled me up.

"You got any weapons?" he asked.

"Yeah," I say, showing him the knife I found stuck into a tree, surely one that Clove threw as she chased down another Tribute.

"Good," he said. "Let's get back to the others."

"The others?" I asked, playing dumb.

"Yeah, stay behind me about ten paces," he said. "I'll have to talk to the rest of the group before they see you, convince them that Lover Boy can be part of our alliance."

He'd led me back to the area near the lake, where the others had massive amounts of supplies. I didn't hear what he said to the others, but it had only taken about five minutes before he called to me to step out of the shadow of the edge of the woods. They'd set me up with another small knife, a backpack of useful items like a water bottle and fishing hooks, and quizzed me about where I thought Katniss would be and any of her tactics. Then we'd headed back into the woods, and the day turned to darkness.

I was silent and stood back as they taunted and attacked the girl from District 8, remembering my agreement with Cato only a few hours earlier, then think of Katniss. Where could she be? I'm almost certain she has found a hiding place, possibly in a cave or a tree, but we haven't seen many trees that would be tall enough for her to hide in. I've been keeping an eye out for any signs of her, but luckily, haven't seen anything to indicate she'd be nearby. I did convince Cato that she'd definitely be in the woods instead of the grassy area of the arena, but he likely already guessed this. If we don't come upon any sign of her soon, I'd have to improvise and say I recognized something as hers so they wouldn't see me as useless and turn on me, as Haymitch suggested they might if they don't view me as valuable.

"Twelve down and eleven to go!" Marvel exclaims, to which the three girls hoot and giggle. I am pulled back to the present and follow them as they'd moved away from the body of the District 8 girl.

"Better clear out so they can get the body before it starts stinking," Cato sneers.

"Shouldn't we have heard a cannon by now?" Glimmer asks eventually.

"I'd say yes. Nothing to prevent them from going in immediately," Cato says.

"Unless she isn't dead," Marvel points out.

"She's dead. I stuck her myself," Cato defends himself.

"Then where's the cannon?" Marvel asks.

"Someone should go back. Make sure the job's done."

"Yeah, we don't want to have to track her down twice."

"I said she's dead!" Cato insists.

"We're wasting time! I'll go finish her and let's move on!" I yell, sick of their argument.

"Go on, then, Lover Boy," Cato says. "See for yourself."

I backtrack down the path we took, favoring my right leg. I come upon the girl from District 8, essentially lifeless, not moving, laying next to her dying fire. Her eyes are still open, and she takes tiny breaths which can't sustain her for much longer. With my knife as my only weapon, I realize I would have to stick it directly into her heart in order to put her out of her misery. The idea is repellent to me, and I know she can't possibly live much longer with the slow bleeding out of her side where Cato thrust his sword. Instead, I kneel down next to her, take one of her hands in both of mine, and tell her, "It's okay," even though she most certainly knows that it isn't. Her eyes focus on mine momentarily, and she says, "Home?" I nod and say, "Yes, you'll be going home." She closes her eyes, and I wait until I can no longer feel the pulse in her hand. I give her hand a last squeeze before I stand up and make my way back to Cato and the others.

"Was she dead?" Cato asks.

"No. But she is now," I say, and just then, the cannon fires. "Ready to move on?" The group decides to move along and take off at a run.

After some hours of searching around, we'd then rested and ate some of supplied food the Careers have hoarded. We watched as part of the woods lit up with fire and the sky became clouded with ashy smoke. I guessed this was an attempt to move around some of the remaining Tributes, likely including Katniss, who could have made it many miles away from the center of the arena by that point. Cato and Clove insisted on going out to search around once most of the smoke had died down. I was at the back of the group as they trampled loudly through the woods, realizing that our noise would likely warn any of the remaining Tributes of our whereabouts and give them plenty of time to clear out. We are all breathing heavily because of the remaining smoke in the air, but press on nonetheless. In another half hour or so, we come upon an area that is more densely green than the area of forest we'd been in up until then, and I guess we are approaching a water source.

Cato spots Katniss before I do, resting in a pool of water that looks pristine, and she breaks into a run with Cato close on her heels. She's faster, though, and makes her way to a very tall tree, scaling it quickly. I notice her jacket has suffered some damage, and there's a gash in her pants, though it's difficult to see what has happened.

"How's everything with you?" Katniss shouts, smiling down at us.

"Well enough," says Cato. "Yourself?"

"It's been a bit warm for my taste," Katniss says, and I have to choke back a laugh. "The air's better up here. Why don't you come on up?"

"Think I will," Cato replies.

"Here, take this, Cato," Glimmer says, handing him the bow and arrows.

"No," Cato says, pushing the bow away. "I'll do better with my sword." Cato begins the climb, but he's clearly not as nimble as he is strong. He flails and then crashes to the ground with a loud thud. Glimmer tries next, getting a bit higher than Cato, and she takes aim with an arrow, missing by a few feet, close enough to Katniss for her to grab the arrow and taunt Glimmer with it.

"Oh, let her stay up there. It's not like she's going anywhere. We'll deal with her in the morning," I say, the frustration in my voice completely real, but not for the reasons the Careers-and now Katniss-must think.

We set up camp for the evening, taking shifts staying awake. I volunteer to go first, using the backpack under my head as a pillow, staring up into the tree where Katniss rests. It's difficult to spot her exact location, her dark jacket and pants blending in with the shadows and leaves, but every once in a while, she shifts slightly. If only there were a way for me to communicate with her, tell her to wait until the others have fallen asleep and then give her time to escape, but I know this is futile. I'll just have to hope she figures out a way to elude the group of us. For now, all I can do is keep guard and give her a chance to rest. After a couple hours, I nudge Clove to switch shifts, and I move further away from the group to the edge of the little clearing we have claimed, trying to catch some sleep before the sun rises.

The next thing I know, there's a loud crashing noise and the sound of buzzing in my ears. I don't even stop to think or grab any of my supplies, just leap to my feet and run as hard as I can back toward the lake. Cato and Clove are nearby, and Clove screams "Tracker jackers!" and I know I was right to run. I feel a few stings before I make it to the lake and dive into the shallow water, boots and all. I stay below the surface as long as I can, and sit up after my lungs feel like they are about to burst. A few of the others are nearby on the shore of the lake, tending to their stings. It doesn't look like the tracker jackers have followed us all the way here.

"Did everyone get away?" I ask Marvel, who is nearest to me, sitting on the grass at the edge of the lake.

"I don't think so," he replies, nodding toward Clove and Cato. The other girls are nowhere to be seen.

"Should we check on them?" I ask.

"We already heard one cannon," Marvel says, nodding in the direction of the woods.

"So one of them might be okay?"

"Maybe," Cato says. "We can go look, if you want." I nod and drag myself out of the water, my clothing soaked. As I move, my head feels heavy and my vision shifts. Everything looks shiny, as though dipped in a shimmery substance. I blink and rub my eyes, but the strange effect doesn't stop. I realize the tracker jacker venom must have some strange effects. Without thinking about it, I grab a spear that is laying at the edge of the water, and Cato and I take to the woods.


	3. The Crush

**This is my first fanfiction, so if you have feedback, let me know! I wasn't originally going to include this, but realized the story needs this part to move forward. This is when Katniss learns of Peeta's long-time crush, and how Peeta feels about admitting this to all of Panem; also, Peeta's reaction to Katniss's reaction, plus the roof scene. Sorry, that seems really convoluted, but you're probably smart enough to get it. Plus, I am terrible with titles for fiction. :) **

* * *

Since asking to be trained on my own, I've mostly been catching up on sleep-what little I can get-and eating as much as possible. While I eat, Haymitch has been nearby with his bottles, and I've been gathering any information I can from him about the arena and tactics for ingratiating myself to the Careers once inside. I have no idea what he's told Katniss about my wanting to be alone for this portion of the training, only that she didn't put up any fuss when it was mentioned.

Portia and her team have spent hours readying me for tonight. I've never paid much attention to my looks before, but they prep team are pleased with their results. They've slicked back my hair and treated my whole body in some kind of wax that has softened the burn callouses on my hands and arms. They put me in a dark suit with flame accents and spent most of the afternoon tailoring it to fit my broad shoulders and making sure that everything looks perfect. They keep saying things like, "Fabulous, Peeta!" and "Oh, I bet all of the girls will LOVE you in this!" and making little shrieks I can barely tolerate, but I smile and try to make the best of it. Portia gives me a little hug when everything is complete, which is surprising and genuinely sweet, but all I can think of is Katniss. How will she present herself in the interview? And what will her reaction be if I can manage to follow the plan and admit my feelings? It's too much to hope she could feel anything for me-I just hope the audience's reaction is what Haymitch hopes for.

I'm ushered toward the elevator and catch my first glimpse of Katniss in days. In District 12, she's usually dressed in muted colors that match the woods in which she spends so much time. _With Gale,_ I think with some feeling of emptiness. But tonight her dress is nothing like anything I've seen before. The accents on my suit match her dress, and I can see the stylists' intent-we don't look like a matching set any longer but we still complement each other and look like a pair. In some ways, this is a relief.

After all of the other Tributes have gone ahead of us, Katniss takes the stage. I think I hold my breath the entire time she's talking to Caesar Flickerman, the host of these interviews for as long as I can remember. She's kind of quiet and seems stunned that the audience laughs at her attempts at humor about the lamb stew and being on fire during the opening ceremonies. I feel myself being charmed by her. She is completely herself, and when she compliments Cinna and shows off her dress, the audience is rapt, _oohing _and _aahing _over her spinning and the flames that are revealed as she does this.

As Haymitch said he would, Caesar tries to find out about her score, looking for an explanation of what got her an 11. She doesn't even give a hint, after looking to the Gamemakers for help. Then Caesar draws the interview to a close by asking about Prim. "She asked me to try really hard to win," Katniss says quietly, looking at her hands in her lap. "And what did you say?" Caesar asks. "I swore I would." The answer hits me like a hundred pound bag of flour, and I know I must do everything I can to get Katniss back to Prim, back to her mother, back home.

This is it. Katniss has completed her interview and now Caeser is gesturing me forward to the interview seat. I remember Haymitch's words, "_You're smart, you're charming, you'll think of a way." _I don't really know how this is going to work, but I flip a switch inside of myself and force a cheery grin onto my face as I sit down. The first part of the interview is a blur-I am falsely grinning as I talk a bit about the bakery back home, and compare some of the Tributes to the bread of their Districts. Caeser wears a gigantic grin that seems fake, but he seems to be really enjoying himself. I mention how weird the showers are here in the Capitol, and the audience finds this hilarious. I'd mistakenly pressed a number of random buttons on my first morning, and wound up being doused in a variety of flower and fruit scents, so walked around smelling like roses and grapefruit. My prep team tried to get rid of it, but only succeeded in muting it so only someone standing very close to me would know.

After this bit, Caesar sits back in his chair and asks me directly if I have a girlfriend back home. I hesitate since I didn't expect him to ask me like this, so pointedly, and I shake my head without thinking. _I don't have a girlfriend._

"Handsome lad like you. There must be some special girl. Come on, what's her name?" he cajoles.

I sigh with relief, knowing Caesar is giving me another way to do this, whether or not he realizes it. "Well, there is this one girl," I begin. The words tumble out before I even think about exactly what I'm going to say. "I've had a crush on her ever since I can remember. But I'm pretty sure she didn't know I was alive until the reaping." This is true, and elicits some sounds of sympathy from the crowd.

"She have another fellow?" Caesar asks. I think of Gale Hawthorne and the girls in school, whispering jealously about Katniss, and answer honestly, "I don't know, but a lot of boys like her."

Caesar sits forward in his chair like he's come up with a genius plan. "So, here's what you do. You win, you go home. She can't turn you down then, eh?" he says encouragingly. I see the way to do this, and say without hesitation, "I don't think it's going to work out. Winning... won't help in my case."

"Why ever not?" says Caesar, mystified.

I can't help the rush of blood through my body that goes to my brain, but I manage to stammer out, "Because... because... she came here with me." I am almost completely unaware of the audience's reaction to this as the blood retreats and my heart is pounding, but I know I've done the job when I catch sight of Haymitch, looking pleased. I avoid looking at Katniss.

Caesar says, "Oh, that is a piece of bad luck."

I agree with him, "It's not good." Momentarily, I'm thinking of home, and what it might have been like to confess this to Katniss directly, with nobody else around. Caesar interrupts this thought. "Well, I don't think any of us can blame you. It'd be hard not to fall for that young lady." The crowd murmurs their agreement, and I look out at them. "She didn't know?" I hear Caesar ask.

"Not until now." And it's over, I'm shaking his hand and leaving the area in the main spotlight and make my way back to the group. I finally look at Katniss for her reaction, but I can't quite gauge her emotions at this moment. I hear Caesar saying something to the audience about wanting Katniss's reaction to this, but her time is up. So it's done, at least. In the eyes of the Capitol, I am now hopelessly in love with Katniss. I'm pretty sure Haymitch is happy with this, because I hear him mention Seneca Crane, the head Gamemaker, and 'sponsorships galore' and other things I can't even think about right now. I just want to get back to the apartment, away from the lights and the audience and everyone.

We are herded back onto the elevator in groups. I don't end up on the same elevator as Katniss, and am back at the apartment before anyone else. When Katniss arrives the next moment, she comes directly up to me, and I have no idea what to expect. Some thanks? A hug? She comes very close to me, and I am unprepared when she shoves me, and am so caught off guard, I fall into a table holding a vase that I always thought was ugly. My hands are cut and I yell, "What was that for?"

"You had no right! No right to go saying those things about me!" Katniss shouts.

Effie, Haymitch, Portia, and Cinna get off the elevator the next moment and see me on the floor. "What's going on?" Effie says with a note of panic in her voice. "Did you fall?"

"After she shoved me," I admit, and Effie and Cinna help me to my feet. Haymitch yells at Katniss, "Shoved him?"

"This was your idea, wasn't it? Turning me into some kind of fool in front of the entire country?" she shouts at Haymitch.

"It was my idea," I admit. "Haymitch just helped me with it."

"Yes, Haymitch is very helpful. To you!" she hisses back.

"You are a fool," Haymitch says to Katniss. "Do you think he hurt you? That boy just gave you something you could never achieve on your own." I listen to Haymitch and know he's right. Katniss was charming on her own, but now that everyone knows about my long held feelings for her, she is even more intriguing.

"He made me look weak!" Katniss says. I don't even understand this logic, but before I can say anything, Haymitch confronts Katniss.

"He made you look _desirable_!" Haymitch barks. "And let's face it; you can use all the help you can get in that department. You were about as romantic as dirt until he said he wanted you. You're all they're talking about. The star-crossed lovers from District Twelve!" says Haymitch.

"But we're not star-crossed lovers!" Katniss replies.

"Who cares? It's all a big show. It's all how you're perceived. The most I could say about you after your interview was that you were nice enough, although that in itself was a small miracle. Now I can say you're a heartbreaker. Oh, oh, oh, how the boys back home fall longingly at your feet. Which do you think will get you more sponsors?" Haymitch explains, laying it all out for her.

Cinna tries to calm down Katniss, saying, "He's right, Katniss."

"I should have been told, so I didn't look so stupid," she says.

"No, your reaction was perfect. If you'd known, it wouldn't have read as real," Portia says, and I think _she's right_.

"She's just worried about her boyfriend," I say. "I don't have a boyfriend," she quickly replies.

"Whatever," I say. She may not call him her boyfriend, but what is he then? Gale is obviously someone she cares about, someone she'd trust to take care of her family if she's gone, someone with whom she spends most of her time. From the outside, it appears simple, but I know it's probably more complicated than I want to think about.

"But I bet he's smart enough to know a bluff when he sees it. Besides _you _didn't say you love _me_. So what does it matter?" I say, an edge of anger in my voice.

"After he said he loved me, did you think I could be in love with him, too?" she asks, turning away from me and looking to the stylists and Effie.

"I did," says Portia, sounding giddy. "The way you avoided looking at the cameras, the blush." Everyone agrees. I didn't see Katniss blush. I wonder if this means anything, but push the thought aside.

"You're golden, sweetheart. You're going to have sponsors lined up around the block," Haymitch tells her.

"I'm sorry I shoved you," Katniss says quietly to me.

"Doesn't matter," I say with a shrug. "Although it's technically illegal," I point out.

"Are your hands okay?" she asks, suddenly sounding concerned.

"They'll be all right," I say.

"Come on, let's eat," says Haymitch, breaking the silence. I go to the table with the others but my hands are still bleeding and I know they must be bandaged. Now I'm really glad I'm on Katniss's side, whether she knows it or not.

Later, in my room, I change into sleeping clothes and rebandage the cuts on my hands. I lay down on the bed, not getting between the covers, and feel frightened. I'm scared for myself, that the plan won't work, that Cato and the other Careers might not believe my lies. I'm going to put some distance between myself and the Careers until the initial hysteria of entering the arena has calmed down. I'm going to make sure Katniss doesn't do something stupid, like try to grab the bow and arrows that will surely be set out as a trap for her. I hope she runs as fast as she can and gets away before anyone can track her. Well, maybe her shadow will follow her-Rue is quick and quiet and her strategy may be to follow Katniss. I don't think she wants to hurt her, though.

As all of these thoughts roll around in my mind, I think about the Capitol residents and how crazed they seem, bloodthirsty, excited about all of the impending death. I don't like having to think about how my actions in the arena will appear. Somehow I will have to make it clear that I am only trying to ally myself with the Careers to keep Katniss safe. People are already sympathetic toward me, toward us. But I'll have to do this while getting the Careers to believe they are holding me captive in order to effectively hunt down Katniss. The duplicity makes me feel sick, and I know I need to escape this room, these thoughts, if only for a little while. I decide to go to the roof for some air. It's not long before I hear her voice. "You should be getting some sleep," she says.

I'm surprised but keep facing the crowds below. I lie to her, "I didn't want to miss the party. It's for us, after all."

"Are they in costumes?" Katniss asks. "Who could tell?" I answer. "With all the crazy clothes they wear here. Couldn't sleep, either?" I notice Katniss has taken off her makeup, put her hair back into a simple braid, and is in sleeping clothes, too, which is a stark difference from her flaming dress earlier in the night. She seems very young, almost like the girl I saw on the first day of school.

"Couldn't turn my mind off," she says, taking a seat on the ledge next to me.

"Thinking about your family?" I ask.

"No," she says, looking at her hands. "All I can do is wonder about tomorrow. Which is pointless, of course." She takes a deep breath. "I really am sorry about your hands." She seems sad about it, so I try to make her feel better.

"It doesn't matter, Katniss," I tell her. "I've never been a contender in these Games anyway." With no self-pity, I can say these words. I feel like I should tell her everything, all my plans, all about Haymitch's strategy for us to get her home by sacrificing me, at least as much of it as I understand. I want to tell her the crush is no longer just a crush, not after our time together, training and preparing as best we can for the Games. I know her now, I've talked to her, and held onto her when I needed to in the chariot. I feel like I _could _tell her everything, but I don't think she wants to hear it.

"That's no way to be thinking," she says.

"Why not? It's true. My best hope is to not disgrace myself and..." I hesitate. "And what?" she asks.

I try to explain. "I don't know how to say it exactly. Only... I want to die as myself. Does that make any sense?" I look to her for some sign that she understands what I'm saying. That my private thoughts are my own, that my actions may be forced by circumstance, but they can never take my thoughts, my emotions, or my instinct to protect her always.

She shakes her head. I go on, "I don't want them to change me in there. Turn me into some kind of monster that I'm not."

"Do you mean you won't kill anyone?" she asks.

"No, when the time comes, I'm sure I'll kill just like everybody else. I can't go down without a fight." I'll definitely be fighting, but not for myself. "Only I keep wishing I could think of a way to... to show the Capitol they don't own me. That I'm more than just a piece in their Games."

"But you're not," she says. "None of us are. That's how the Games work."

I'm frustrated with her, for being unable to think beyond this. "Okay, but within that framework, there's still you, there's still me." I stop short of saying, _there's still us_, and instead say, "Don't you see?"

"A little," she says, still sounding unsure. "Only... no offense, but who cares, Peeta?" I'm not offended, so I continue. "I do. I mean, what else am I allowed to care about at this point?" I feel anger rising in me. She stands up and steps away from me.

"Care about what Haymitch said. About staying alive."

"Okay. Thanks for the tip, sweetheart." The words are out before I can stop myself. It's too late to do anything about it. I think about reaching out for her, but I don't.

"Look, if you want to spend the last hours of your life planning some noble death in the arena, that's your choice. I want to spend mine in District Twelve," she puts her arms across her chest, looking fiercely determined.

"Wouldn't surprise me if you do," I say. "Give my mother my best when you make it back, will you?"

"Count on it," she says, and turns quickly and is gone before I can say anything else. I look back out at the crowds below. _There's still you, there's still me._ I know she doesn't understand, because she is so focused on getting home to Prim, to winning the Games for her, as she promised she would. I decide it doesn't matter if she understands or not, as long as I can help get her home.


	4. Injured

**Again, apologies for not updating sooner. Have been busy with work and, you know, enjoying summer. :) This is when Peeta is injured by Cato. I am also planning to do the scene when Katniss finds Peeta. Review and favorite for updates. I do hope to do Catching Fire and Mockingjay scenes from Peeta's POV, too.**

* * *

I'm a bit ahead of Cato when we take off, and I don't run directly back to the tree where Katniss was, instead veering off to my left. My vision is still strange, and I find myself feeling off-balance, tripping over roots and rocks and I definitely wasn't before the venom must have hit my nervous system. Things take on an eerie quality I can't quite describe. It's like everything is sharper and yet my senses are dulled. I don't know where Cato has run off to, but I'm guessing he's gone straight back to the area where we slept to see if he can salvage any of the supplies or weapons we left behind as we fled, and also check which of the girls have survived. The moment I have this thought, I hear another cannon boom and the noise startles me. Logically, I know this must mean that both of the girls are dead from the tracker jackers, but I feel a surge of panic rise in me. _It could be Katniss. Cato could have found her_. I push myself to run faster, and I hear something in the woods ahead of me. The foliage is dense, and I use the spear to hack away at some of it, clearing a narrow path. Before I know it, I'm in a small clearing, and Katniss is directly in front of me, doubled over as if in pain.

"What are you still doing here?" I hiss at her. There's no time to explain that Cato is nearby, and no way for me to hide her. She's dazed and I realize the tracker jacker venom has affected her ability to get away. "Are you mad? Get up! Get up!" I tell her. "Run! Run!" She finally rises and gets her bearings, then takes off in the opposite direction of the lake. Before I am fully aware of what just happened with Katniss, Cato slashes his way through the greenery a few feet away from me.

"Did you find her?" he asks.

"Find who?" I ask as innocently as I can manage under the influence of the venom.

"Don't play dumb!" he shouts. "Your girlfriend!" I open my mouth to say something-anything-but Cato steps closer to me and continues yelling, "I'm not stupid, you know! I know that you're trying to protect her! But you can't!" He jabs his sword in my direction, but I'm still a few steps out of range. I'm about to take off running when he lunges closer and makes contact with my leg. Adrenaline immediately hits me, somewhat sharpening my senses and lessening the effects of the venom. Unfortunately, I'm not fast enough for Cato, and he trips me as I try to escape his reach. "I'm going to win this, _Lover Boy_, and don't you forget it!" He slashes my leg, and while I scramble to try to get up and realize the amount of blood I'm losing, I decide my better option is to play as though my wound has caused me to pass out and, ultimately, die. This apparently doesn't take much effort, because the next thing I know, I'm coming out of a dream. I know it must be a dream because I'm momentarily with Katniss, back on the roof in the Capitol. I try to hold onto this vision, but I'm pulled toward consciousness and am looking up at a heavy canopy of leaves and a bit of blue sky visible beyond that. Having passed out may have saved my life. I shift slightly and nobody is in sight. It seems Cato has taken off, probably thinking he'd killed me.


	5. First kisses

**The next scene is the first kiss scene in the cave between Katniss and Peeta, from Peeta's POV. My opinion is that Katniss is kind of-and I mean this in the nicest possible way-completely dense when it comes to her feelings. She has huge abandonment issues. She hates the idea of leaving Prim for this reason, and she really hates the idea of Peeta dying, because she feels protective of him now, too. She's relieved when she learns they can win together, but doesn't realize why she suddenly feels extremely protective of Peeta. She stubbornly sticks by him.**

* * *

"Katniss," I say. She comes closer to me and gently brushes the hair out of my eyes. It's comforting, this gesture, so simple and pure. "Thanks for finding me." This isn't saying nearly enough, but it's all I can manage right now.

"You would have found me if you could," she says. I know I must be burning up, because I feel dizzy and the edges of my vision are blurring. And then Katniss gets a look in her eyes, like I imagine a trapped animal would look. She seems frightened, and I think I know what this means. I am very sick.

"Yes. Look, if I don't make it back-" I start to say, but she interrupts.

"Don't talk like that. I didn't drain all that pus for nothing," she says. I think about how horrible my wound must look, how she took time to care for it and spent precious energy to drag me into this cave. I feel grateful for her, and for Haymitch being able to leverage some kind of deal that allows two Victors, even if I die before we can win.

"I know. But just in case I don't-" I try to continue. I know I have to tell her how much I appreciate her taking care of me, how much I want her to win and return to District 12, even if I don't make it.

"No, Peeta, I don't even want to discuss it," she says, placing her fingertips on my lips to quiet me. I feel a shiver that has nothing to do with my fever.

"But I-" I try to insist, but she moves her fingers from my lips and leans forward, brushing my lips with hers. This completely surprises me. My first kiss. _Our first kiss._ I never tried to imagine it, but it seems perfect in this moment. Her lips feel cool, and she presses them more firmly to mine. I feel her breath on my skin, her face next to mine. She breaks away far too quickly, though, pulling the edge of the sleeping bag up around me, tucking me in like she has probably tucked in her sister many times. She tells me, "You're not going to die. I forbid it. All right?"

"All right," I whisper. She leaves the cave then, ostensibly to check the weather. I think about her actions, her kindness-no, tenderness-toward me. I feel lighter than I ever have. I've been telling myself I'm there to try to save her, but part of me now hopes we can win this together. _Together. _The idea is almost a shock to me. _She won't leave me_. I know this. She's protecting me. She just kissed me. Maybe she feels as devoted to me as I do to her. Maybe this is why she was so upset when I admitted to all of Panem that I care for her, because she wanted her feelings to be private, and didn't want her weakness for me to be known? The thoughts and pain overwhelm me and I close my eyes, letting sleep wash over me. I start to dream almost instantly, of Katniss and I back in District 12, living in the Victor's Village, together, waking up next to her on a bright April morning.

"Peeta!" her voice enters my dreams, a happy, excited sound. Not sure if it's real or part of the dream, I keep my eyes closed, and I can feel her warmth as she leans over me, placing a kiss on my forehead, another on my cheek, and a last one on my lips, which startles me into opening my eyes. It's real. I smile at her, and feel my heart nearly beating its way out of my chest. Can she hear it? She's smiling at me and looks so pleased.

Then she holds up a metal pot with a white parachute dangling from the lid. "Peeta, look what Haymitch has sent you."

_Medicine_, I think, but Katniss opens the lid and the smell tells me it's soup. I have no appetite, but I know she's right when she insists I eat in order to gather some strength, if I am to live. Live and go home. She coaxes me, teases me with threats, hitting my arm lightly where I'm not injured, flirting. Even if I am dying, I am happier than I have ever been. I take small sips of the broth from the smooth silver spoon included with the parachute. I close my eyes after a few spoonfuls, feeling immensely tired. Katniss kisses my lips again, and I open my eyes. She begs me to take more of the broth. "You should have some, too," I say.

"No, this is for you," she says, putting a hand on mine, which is resting across my chest. Her fingertips brush the fabric of my shirt and I'm sure she must be able to feel my heartbeat, thumping so loudly in my own ears, throbbing in my wound. I relent, and take in the remaining broth, sip by sip. It's gone, and she kisses me again right before I fall asleep.


	6. The Cave

**Again, Peeta's POV in an important moment in their developing relationship. IMO, Katniss is falling in love with Peeta, but doesn't know how to put a name to those feelings. She felt gratitude toward him for the bread many years before, but she didn't know what to do with that feeling, and now she also does not recognize her feelings of desire ('stirring inside my chest,' she calls it), because she has squelched her wants for as long as she can remember, only focusing on survival. I believe Peeta can tell when she is overcome with emotion and knows they both feel something real. Also reveals that Haymitch may have planned to pair them from the beginning. **

* * *

"Yeah, about that," I say, entwining my fingers with Katniss's. Her hand fits so perfectly with mine, and I can't feel angry at this moment. "Don't try something like that again."

"Or what?" she asks, playfully.

"Or... or..." For once, I can't think of something good to say, nothing that will convince her. "Just give me a minute."

"What's the problem?" she says with a flirtatious grin. I almost can't believe she has never had a boyfriend before, she is so coy and her eyes twinkle as she looks at me. Did she act like this with Gale? I can't quite imagine it, and decide I don't want to. I frown, trying to remain serious.

"The problem is we're both still alive. Which only reinforces the idea in your mind that you did the right thing," I say as seriously as I can. I begin feeling upset with her again. How could she risk her life for me?

"I did do the right thing," she says.

"No! Just don't, Katniss!" I tighten my grip on her hand, which might be hurting her, but she needs to understand how angry I am with her, how serious this is. "Don't die for me. You won't be doing me any favors. All right?"

She looks startled, and I relax my grip on her hand. "Maybe I did it for myself, Peeta, did you ever think of that? Maybe you aren't the only one who... who worries about... what it would be like if..."

What is she trying to say? I search her face for clues. Her hand is in mine, and she looks away from me for a moment, then looks back at me. I look into her gray eyes and want to pull her into my arms, keeping her safe forever. I can't lose her, not after all we've been through. _Nobody else could ever have this kind of bond with her,_ I think, _this horrible shared experience of the Games from inside the arena_. Maybe she realizes this. Maybe she is as terrified of losing me as I am of losing her.

"If what, Katniss?" I say softly, setting aside my feelings of anger and softening my expression.

"That's exactly the kind of topic Haymitch told me to steer clear of," she says. Haymitch? What does Haymitch have to do with this? But if she had any feelings for me prior to entering the arena, and Haymitch truly thought we could both survive this by manipulating the audience and the Gamemakers, perhaps he did tell her not to reveal our strategy to viewers, to sponsors, in the hope that the star-crossed lovers plot would inspire a twist in the rules.

"Then I'll just have to fill in the blanks myself," I say, releasing her hand, moving close to her and taking her into my arms, pulling her to me and kissing her before I can think about it too much, what any of this means. Instead of feeling her cool lips against my feverish skin, she kisses me with a warmth I don't expect. She is in charge of the moment, deepening the kiss like she hasn't before, clinging to me, and suddenly I am losing control, clutching her tightly and never wanting to let go. But I have to, before this gets completely beyond my ability to hold back. I pull away and avoid looking into her eyes, focusing on the gash on her forehead instead. "I think your wound is bleeding again," I tell her. I can tell she is disappointed that I pulled away, when I could sense she wanted to continue. "Come on, lie down, it's bedtime anyway," I say.

I get her dry socks, and she insists I put my jacket back on even though I feel so much stronger after the shot of medicine and have no sign of fever. She wants to take the first watch, but I have to make sure she doesn't leave the cave unless totally necessary, so I make her a deal-she can take the first watch if she is next to me the whole time, in the sleeping bag for warmth because, while she won't admit it, she is quite obviously shivering. This is a bit selfish on my part, because I want her near me, but it's also practical because I can keep her warm. She slips into the sleeping bag next to me, her thin but strong body fitting into the space perfectly. I feel the length of her legs next to mine and nudge mine closer to her, which she accepts and rests her leg on top of mine. I wrap my arm around shoulders and gently pull her head down to use my arm as a pillow, putting my other arm over her so she can't slip away. I stay awake as long as I can, holding her and matching her breathing, but I relent into sleep when I can't keep my eyes open any longer. She wakes me after a few hours, putting a hand to my chest.

"Tomorrow, when it's dry, I'll find us a place so high in the trees we can both sleep in peace," she says as she drifts into sleep. The next day is no better, though, and while the rain continues, I consider going out to scavenge for food. Katniss tells me this is pointless because of the downpour, plus then I will be soaked and it will take forever to dry. Nothing much happens the rest of the day, except for staying warm in the sleeping bag, which I don't really mind with Katniss beside me... aside from the hunger.

"Peeta," Katniss says quietly, looking up at me from where her head is resting on my arm. "You said at the interview you'd had a crush on me forever. When did forever start?"

"Oh, let's see." She seems curious, and I can't deny her the truth. "I guess the first day of school. We were five. You had on a red plaid dress and your hair... it was in two braids instead of one. My father pointed you out when we were waiting to line up," I say, smiling at the memory.

"Your father? Why?" She asks.

"He said, 'See that little girl? I wanted to marry her mother, but she ran off with a coal miner,'" I explain.

"What? You're making that up!" Katniss exclaims.

"No, true story," I say. "And I said, 'A coal miner? Why did she want a coal miner if she could've had you?' And he said, 'Because when he sings... even the birds stop to listen.'"

"That's true. They do. I mean, they did," Katniss says quietly. I feel her pain from the sweet memory of her father, so I try to distract her from this by continuing. "So that day, in music assembly, the teacher asked who knew the valley song. Your hand shot right up in the air. She stood you up on a stool and had you sing it for us. And I swear, every bird outside the windows fell silent," I say, noticing a strand of hair has loosened itself from her braid. "Oh, please," she says, laughing.

"No, it happened. And right when your song ended, I knew-just like your mother-I was a goner," I say, looking into her eyes, so close to mine. A moment I never dared to hope for. "Then for the next eleven years, I tried to work up the nerve to talk to you."

"Without success," Katniss teases.

"Without success. So, in a way, my name being drawn in the reaping was a real piece of luck," I joke. Katniss doesn't laugh, doesn't even smile. She looks at me with a question on her face, but I can't figure out what it could be. She shifts slightly in the sleeping bag, and I move a bit away from her to give her some space.

"You have a... remarkable memory," she stammers.

"I remember everything about you," I say quietly, not wanting to share this moment with all of Panem, but having no choice, I tuck the loose strand of hair behind her ear. I add, "You're the one who wasn't paying attention."

"I am now," Katniss says.

"Well, I don't have much competition here," I say, thinking of Gale, thinking of the other guys who have admired Katniss. I realize this sounds kind of pathetic, but I don't know how to recover from this admission.

She swallows hard and saves the moment, saying, "You don't have much competition anywhere." She leans toward me, catching my lips with hers. We are almost instantly interrupted by a clunk outside which makes both of us jump and break the kiss. I peer outside and give an involuntary whoop, hopping out of the sleeping bag, into the rain, grabbing the parachute, and handing it to Katniss as I go back into the cave. I snuggle back into the sleeping bag and feel my face bursting with smile. "I guess Haymitch finally got tired of watching us starve."

"I guess so," she answers, smiling at me.


	7. Victors

**The major climax of the Games, from Peeta's POV. **

* * *

"What are they waiting for?" I say weakly. Between the loss of the tourniquet and the effort it took to get to the lake, my wound has opened up again. It looks terrible, but I am hopeful we will be taken out of the arena in time to save my leg.

"I don't know," Katniss says. She moves to pick up an arrow, likely to use it in the tourniquet. As she stoops to pick it up, Claudius Templesmith's voice booms into the arena.

_"Greetings to the final contestants of the Seventy-fourth Hunger Games. The earlier revision has been revoked. Closer examination of the rule book has disclosed that only one winner may be allowed," he says. "Good luck and may the odds be ever in your favor."_

There's a small burst of static and then it goes quiet. Katniss is looking at me in complete disbelief, as though the idea of this plot has never occurred to her. Perhaps it hasn't. Perhaps she is completely innocent of the Gamemaker's ploy, of Haymitch's plan potentially going awry.

"If you think about it, it's not that surprising," I say softly. I painfully make it to my feet. I move toward her, pulling the knife from my belt in order to throw it away, but before I drop the knife, her my bow is loaded with the arrow pointed straight at my heart. I raise my eyebrows and drop the knife into the lake where it splashes in the water. She drops her weapons and takes a step back, her face turning an angry red. She is obviously beyond frustrated with the position we are now placed in.

"No," I say. "Do it." I limp toward her and put the weapon back in her hands.

"I can't," she says. "I won't." My heart leaps at the determination in her voice, the same defiance she exhibited when volunteering to take Prim's place. But now it's about me, about her not letting me go.

"Do it. Before they send those mutts back or something. I don't want to die like Cato," I say, knowing we have no control over the end of this game, regardless of how either of us feels.

"Then you shoot me," she says furiously, shoving the weapons back at me. "You shoot me and go home and live with it!"

"You know I can't," I say, discarding the weapons. I become resigned, lightheaded from the loss of blood that the bandage is barely slowing. "Fine, I'll go first anyway." I can't argue with her about this anymore. I lean down and rip the bandage off my leg, allowing the blood to flow and drain away the last of my energy.

"No, you can't kill yourself," she says. She drops to her knees, desperately plastering the bandage back onto my wound.

"Katniss," I say. "It's what I want." Though that isn't true at all. What I want is for us to both make it out of here, go back home, and keep each other safe forever.

"You're not leaving me here alone," she says. She looks up at me, helplessly trying to place the bandage and clutching at my leg.

"Listen," I say, pulling Katniss to her feet, bringing her face within inches of mine. She drops the bandage and looks into my eyes. "We both know they have to have a victor. It can only be one of us. Please, take it. For me." I go on about how I love her, how there would be no life for me if I lose her, but she doesn't appear to be taking any of it in. She gets a crazed look, beyond desperation, and quickly fumbles with the pouch on her belt, freeing it. I see it, remember the deadly berries, and clamp my hand onto her wrist. "No, I won't let you." If she eats these and dies in front of my eyes, I will never recover.

"Trust me," she whispers. I hold her gaze for a long moment then let her go. She seems to know what she's doing, crazy as it may seem, and I trust her. _I trust her. I love her. _I think I know what she's playing at, and really, this is a game, after all, so anything could work, right? Was this what Haymitch meant when he said, "_You appear to sacrifice yourself for her, and who knows what might happen?"_

She loosens the top of the pouch and pours a few spoonfuls of berries into my palm, then fills her own. "On the count of three?" she says.

I lean down and kiss her once, very gently. "The count of three," I say.

We stand, our backs pressed together, our empty hands locked tight in the other's.

"Hold them out. I want everyone to see," I say.

The dark berries glisten in the sun. She gives my hand one last squeeze as a signal, as a good-bye, I think, in case this doesn't work, and we begin counting. "One." Maybe she's wrong. "Two." Maybe they don't care if we both die. "Three!" It's too late for either of us to change our mind. We both lift our hands to our mouths. I haven't even tasted the berries that are at my lips when the trumpets begin to blare.

_The frantic voice of Claudius Templesmith shouts above us. "Stop! Stop! Ladies and gentlemen, I am pleased to present the victors of the Seventy-fourth Hunger Games, Katniss Everdeen and Peeta Mellark! I give you-the tributes of District Twelve!"_


	8. All for the Games

**The end of the Hunger Games from Peeta's POV. This is the part of the book that bothers me the most, when I want to hit Katniss over the head with a loaf of bread.**

* * *

"What's wrong?" I ask.

"Nothing," she answers. We continue walking, past the end of the train, holding hands. She is very quiet.

Haymitch startles us when he walks up behind us. He keeps his voice down. "Great job, you two. Just keep it up in the district until the cameras are gone. We should be okay." We watch him head back to the train, and Katniss refuses to look at me.

"What's he mean?" I ask her.

"It's the Capitol. They didn't like our stunt with the berries," she says.

"What? What are you talking about?" I say. I didn't think of it as a stunt, I thought of it as her way of saving us both, or leaving this world together.

"It seemed too rebellious. So, Haymitch has been coaching me through the last few days. So I didn't make it worse," she says.

"Coaching you? But not me," I say. "He knew you were smart enough to get it right," she says.

"I didn't know there was anything to get right," I say, realizing far too slowly what she means. "So, what you're saying is, these last few days and then I guess, back in the arena, that was just some strategy you two worked out." I feel heat rushing through my body, remembering her kissing me, pressing her body close to mine, protecting me the whole time while I was trying to protect her.

"No. I mean, I couldn't even talk to him in the arena, could I?" Katniss stammers.

"But you knew what he wanted you to do, didn't you?" I say. She bites her lip. "Katniss?" I drop her hand and she takes a step, as if caught off balance by my letting go.

"It was all for the Games," I say. "How you acted."

"Not all of it," she says, tightly holding onto the flowers I gave her, which are probably just weeds. I think about this, consider her words. Maybe she's telling the truth. I think of all she did, the things that put her in danger. Staying with me in the cave when she could have been safe, high in a tree. Getting medicine at the feast to heal my leg. Surely it couldn't all have been for show, could it? When she said that Haymitch told her to steer clear of the topic of her fearing losing me, and then her kiss that followed, in which I had to restrain myself and her-that had to be real. I knew if we didn't stop then, we wouldn't be able to. She must know this, too. Maybe she wasn't sure of what was real and what she did for the cameras.

"Then how much?" I ask, suddenly realizing I don't want to know. "No, forget that. I guess the real question is what's going to be left when we get home?" I say.

"I don't know. The closer we get to District Twelve, the more confused I get," she says. I wait, for further explanation, but none's forthcoming. I think again of Gale.

"Well, let me know when you work it out," I say, trying not to reveal the pain I feel, hoping she will figure it out and come to me as soon as she does.

I walk back to the train, back to my room, closing the door and laying down on the bed before I collapse. She doesn't follow. How could she do this? I avoid her for the rest of the night, and sneak out of my room to grab some breakfast before anyone else is awake. By the time I must face her, we are pulling into District 12. I don't look at her directly, just nod, and keep my face a cold mask. But I've realized I can't completely drop the show, for the Games aren't really over. The Capitol is unhappy with both of us. And I still want to keep her safe. Part of this is my fault, too, for holding out the berries, for manipulating the Gamemakers with my confession of love in the first place. The platform is full of cameras, and everyone is waiting for us to return, the triumphant Victors of District 12, the happy young lovers. They will be expecting us to be together, to be joyful.

I know she may reject it, but I have to try. I reach for her hand, saying, "One more time? For the audience?" She quickly takes my hand, holding it tightly, more tightly than she ever has. This small thing gives me hope, and I vow not to let go until she does.


End file.
